


A cauldron full of something

by Aegithalos_caudatus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Omorashi, Set sometime in the summer before the 5th year, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:33:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22083427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aegithalos_caudatus/pseuds/Aegithalos_caudatus
Summary: Brewing difficult potions at the whim of the Dark Lord is something a spy must do perfectly, no matter the circumstances.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 51





	A cauldron full of something

The Mercy of Eumenides was not a poison that was remarkable in many ways. It was old, it killed slowly and could be cured by a bezoar. Snape could name at least two dozens of other poisons with same properties off the top of his head, none of which would be as troublesome and expensive to brew as this one. 

But the Dark Lord had expressly asked for it and one did not question the Dark Lord's commands (nor did one imply that there was a more efficient way to do things) lest he chance a prolonged session of public torture (and that was on the days when Voldemort was in good mood).

The potion was rumoured to be one of the first magical poisons ever invented and used ingredients that consisted mostly of various snake parts. He supposed that that was what made the potion so attractive to the Dark Lord. He did have quite a snake obsession. Unfortunately, many of those snakes had become nearly extinct since the potion’s invention and Snape had had to travel over half of the continent, visiting black markets and paying exorbitant amounts of gold before he found them all. Then there was the brewing process itself. The potion took 13 hours of nearly constant attention and was extremely sensitive to any spikes or drops in ambient magical energy. The brewing room needed to be sealed perfectly and no spells could be cast during the preparation of the concoction. For Snape, this meant 13 hours of being locked in the dungeons of the Malfoy manor with nothing but a half a dozen muggle cooking timers for company.

Bending over the solid gold cauldron, he was stirring in individual scales from a black mamba. The potion required six dozen of them and had to be stirred twice clockwise and once counterclockwise between each addition. It was the beginning of the final phase of the potion. One which did not require any more ingredients, just steady hands and carefully timed stirring. Steady hands which he was having increasing trouble maintaining, due to his full bladder.

It wouldn’t be an issue, normally, as he could magic the urine away, but that was not an option now. Even if he could leave the cauldron, the ancient room did not even have a sink that he could use and he would rather not piss on the floor like an animal. Still, if it as the only way to prevent himself from ruining the potion, he would do that. Serving in the ranks of Death eaters had swiftly taught him to avoid displeasing Voldemort, even at the cost of personal humiliation. A shudder ran through him as his bladder had contracted, reminding the potion master that it needed to be emptied, preferably half an hour ago.

Snape was steadily adding one scale after another. He was down to the last dozen now. He would have a 45-second pause between the last scale and the next stirring phase. It would be the only chance to relieve himself for the next hour. He searched the place for any receptacle to go in, hoping to at least spare himself the indignity of being seen in the same room as a puddle of piss. There was a large dust-covered iron cauldron on a shelf to the left at just the right height. It will have to do.

Dropping the last scale, he frantically thrust his one free hand under the robe, unzipping his pants and attempting to pull his member out while stirring it in. His bladder took this as an invitation to start leaking, but he could do nothing about it as he set a timer, leaving droplets of urine on the ground as he rushed around. His bladder released fully as soon as he turned towards the intended container and he hastily pulled his robe up and out of the way, drenching the lower hem slightly.

He shoved his spraying member past the rim of the container and pushed, trying to get the 11 hours worth of liquid out in less than 30 seconds. Unfortunately, his bladder did not respond and continued to empty somewhat sluggishly, as it often did when he overstrained it. This sort of thing was exactly the reason why incontinence was so prevalent among retired potion masters.

The timer chimed its first warning. He had 10 seconds left. Gritting his teeth, he pushed harder, trying to get it all out. Second warning, 5 seconds. He tried to cut off his stream as best he could, bladder burning in protest at the denial of relief. He didn’t waste time tucking his prick away, merely dropped his robe and rushed back to the potion. The robe covered him completely anyway. 

Grabbing the stirring stick, he began following the complicated pattern of the movement described in the ancient recipe. His bladder kept twinging, demanding he finish what he started. It was a distraction he could not afford, so he did the only thing he could and let go. His member, still sticking out of his pants, rose slightly at the pressure of liquid flowing through it and he could feel the tip touch the inner side of this heavy woollen robe. The outside was made liquid and fire-resistant to protect its wearer from the boiling hot potions, but the inside was fur-lined, to compensate for the chilly temperatures in most dungeons. The inner lining was now absorbing part of the urine gushing against it, quickly becoming saturated and letting the remainder of the piss cascade down and make a small puddle at his feet. 

It wasn’t ideal, but at least the mess was less noticeable than a full accident would be and as long as he remembered to move carefully, his pants would stay dry. Securing his position in the inner circle so that he could continue to spy for the order was much more important than a bit of discomfort anyway, and at least he could focus now.


End file.
